


Black Lace on Sweat

by NoirSongbird



Series: Caught in Your Web [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Light D/s, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, minor daddy kink, strip clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8399674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoirSongbird/pseuds/NoirSongbird
Summary: Soldier: 76 has been tracking a group of smugglers from Dorado to Miami, and now the chase has ended up in a strip club. However, when he finds his targets, he also finds the Talon assassin Widowmaker - and she is so very much more than he bargained for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is a commission for a lovely someone who wishes to stay anonymous, and I'm very, very pleased with how it came out!
> 
> See the end notes for French translations; there's not much, but enough!

Jack didn’t exactly  _ hate  _ strip clubs - that would be unfair to say - but he was starting to feel fairly inured to them. He had been prowling the Miami strip scene for almost a week, aiming to finally be in the same damn club as the group of high-ranking Los Muertos smugglers he was chasing. He’d followed leads north and east from Mexico, and here he was, in his fifth strip club in as many days, bored out of his mind and trying not to get a throbbing headache from the aggressively blaring bass line of the music.

The place was thick with smoke, and he was glad his mask filtered it automatically, so all he was smelling was slightly stale recycled air rather than what he was sure was the overall choking odor of smoke, sweat, and, probably, sex. The lighting was dim, cut only by the occasional spotlight on the main stage, the music was loud and pulsing, and the place was brimming with business. It was nicer than some of the places he’d been, but still nowhere near high-class; the fact that he could get in at all was proof enough of that, never mind that he could get in masked and heavily armed. He knew he stood out; that had likely been part of the problem in other clubs, but even scarred and aged, the face of Jack Morrison was far,  _ far  _ too recognizable for him to risk it. Soldier: 76 was an anonymous vigilante. A very lucky, very good one, but still anonymous.

He glanced up, scanned the crowd, and skipped past the stage, because frankly he’d stared at quite enough naked ass that week to leave him almost jaded to the  _ concept  _ of naked ass.

It wasn’t that women held no appeal for him, women were perfectly fine, but there was, apparently, only so much he could take of essentially different varieties of identical naked ass before he ran out of attention  to give it. Most of the girls avoided looking in his direction for too long anyway, and there were two or three unoccupied tables near him because frankly he looked exactly like what he was - a dangerous man on a mission, in full combat gear, pulse rifle tucked under the table. He wasn’t the only one, either; he suspected the only reason there wasn’t  _ already  _ a gunfight going on was that there was some sort of informal truce line being drawn. It was too bad he wasn’t part of their little agreement.

He wondered how many people here recognized him from the Wanted posters, or from other kinds of less government-sanctioned hitlists. His vigilante work was technically extralegal, and there were plenty of people less than happy with it on both sides of the law. He suspected, from the looks that kept being shot his way, quite a lot of the patrons here knew him, and knew they were exactly the type of people he went after; drug runners and thieves and every other kind of criminal.  He didn’t recognize anyone offhand, but that didn’t mean anything, not really. 

Maybe he’d come back later after doing some research and take out some more of the garbage.

He cast a glance over the crowd, visor automatically scanning for the primary target and coming up with nothing. It zoomed closer on faces and filtered through the bad lighting, letting him memorize them - not who he was  _ specifically  _ looking for, but he saved a few to its internal databank to look up later. There was technically nothing forcing him to leave Miami immediately after this except his own assumption that he needed to keep going, keep moving - but hell, he’d stayed in Dorado longer than this, and Miami had plenty of vice that Soldier: 76 could clean up after. In places other than strip clubs,  _ God please. _

Another half hour, he’d give it, and then he’d leave, even if it would be smarter to stay until closing. This felt like a waste of time, and surely there had to be another way to find his target.

He scanned back, and that was when he spotted  _ her.  _

He’d thought he was numbed to strippers, he really had, but there was something about  _ this one.  _ She was all elegance and grace, in fancy sequin-studded lingerie and a jeweled headpiece that glimmered in the low, shifting lighting, covering her eyes. Her curves were accentuated by the overbust corset she wore, and the sparkling decoration on it drew his eyes lower, to her panties, down perfect stocking-clad legs that went on for days and ended in elegant high-heeled shoes. He was fairly certain he hadn’t seen  _ her  _ before - he would have remembered a body like that, remembered her cascades of dark hair, remembered how the dark sequins stood out against her pale skin.

She wasn’t on the stage; she’d come down into the crowd, and she moved with an incredible confidence, hips swaying slightly, the smallest hint of a smile on her face. She was seductive, as much as any gorgeous woman in lingerie, but seductive in a very different, very new way - most of the strippers moved like they were things for the men around them to consume, but everything in her stance radiated the opposite. There were no coquettish winks or little giggles or teasing tugs of her corset to reveal more of her bust - just a lean, a half smile, a brief pause to speak to the people at the table she paused at, and it drew the eye to her in an entirely different way. It made her look less like a dancer and more like some kind of gloriously deadly predator, purring and content now but still deeply dangerous.

He felt a little thrill crawl up his spine, a jolt of electricity. For a moment, nothing was more important than her, than the way she moved as she slipped through the crowd, the way she looked like if she wanted, she could kill just about anyone there and make them thank her for it.

_ Fuck. _   


He was glad his mask hid his face so it wasn’t quite so obvious that Soldier: 76, dangerous vigilante, stone-hearted dispenser of justice in its most brutal form, was practically slobbering over a particularly fine piece of ass.

_ ‘Fuck,’  _ he thought, licking his lips behind the mask,  _ ‘what I wouldn’t give to get my hands on that.’ _

It had been a long time since he’d wanted a woman - really, sincerely  _ wanted.  _ Probably since he’d been Jack Morrison, if he was being entirely honest, before things really started to go to hell with Overwatch and his hours were consumed with work, work, and more work. After it all fell apart, well -- the vigilante life didn’t exactly leave much room for casual sex, not the way he lived it. Others might have carved out some time, maybe, but there was so much that was more important. Protecting people. Taking down Los Muertos. Digging up more information on what happened to Overwatch, things he could finally bring to light so people would  _ stop blaming the organization’s fall on his dead best friend.  _ All of that mattered a hell of a lot more than making time to get laid.

Watching the gorgeous, perfect woman a few tables over as she flirted with the small group there, all of those excuses seemed silly, no matter how seriously he took them under any other circumstance. Hell, if she was as deadly as she moved...maybe there was more to her, a past she was burying under sequined lingerie and a glittering mask. He wanted to know  _ all of it,  _ everything there was to know about her, wanted to pull off what little she was wearing and --  _ fuck. _

He was letting himself get far too distracted, and doing it gladly, because it was a welcome break from scanning over the crowd with no results, even if under most circumstances he would have insistently put the mission ahead of literally anything at all. 

_ ‘Maybe I’ll give this place a shot tomorrow,’  _ he thought, raking his eyes up and down her figure as she slowly leaned up from the table, blowing a last kiss and sauntering slowly to the next, a little closer to him.  _ ‘It’s got its merits, clearly.’  _

He hadn’t tried the same place two days in a row, but hell, maybe it would work out for him. Nothing else he’d tried had, and at worst maybe he’d get the number of the most perfect woman he’d ever laid eyes on, if he could get her over to him. If she gave out her number on the job. If, if, if. For once, he was actually glad to have a thousand  _ ifs  _ to sort through, because they were of a much more appealing variety than the ones he usually wrestled with.

The closer she got, though, the more he realized there was something off about her skintone - she wasn’t just pale, it was like she was wearing some kind of body paint that tinted it an odd, not-quite-natural shade. He wondered what color it was, because the blue-green lights of the club combined with the red-orange tint his visor gave everything made it hard to tell at this distance; wondered what it would be like to watch sweat wash it off her skin while she writhed and moaned underneath him and begged for more. 

_ Shit,  _ he was letting himself get in way too deep over a woman he might never see again once he was done here. He shifted a bit in his seat; it certainly wasn’t the weight of his sidearm holster or his ammo belt making his pants feel uncomfortably tight, not now. Clearly he’d let it go way, way too fucking long, if one admittedly incredible woman could distract him this utterly. There were worse women to obsess over, he supposed, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was a good idea. 

Even if she  _ was  _ perfection on legs.

He considered scanning the room again, but he couldn’t make himself look away from her, not when she pushed away from the last occupied table near him and sauntered, hips swaying, to one of the empty ones, leaning against it and staring off into the crowd like she was looking for something. The lighting highlighted her form perfectly, and it was an actual visceral effort for him to finally look at something else when a hand tapped his shoulder. 76 turned, an eyebrow quirked partway up, and looked straight in the face of his main target, flanked by the rest of the smugglers he’d been waiting for.

Oh. Well. That explained  _ so much,  _ on consideration. How he’d gotten in so easily, why they hadn’t been at any of the other clubs that were supposed to be places they frequented regularly, why no one had gotten into it with him all night despite it being fairly obvious how many people  _ wanted to. _

“Figured you’d end up here,  _ viejo,”  _ the man said, looking amused, and he had a pistol in hand which was being held threateningly close to 76’s face despite his overall relaxed posture. “And look, the great, clever Soldier: 76 waltzed right the fuck into  _ my club  _ and set up shop, thinking I wouldn’t know about it.”

Shit. Shit  _ fuck,  _ he hadn’t done his research, assuming this sack of shit was being literal and he owned the place - he’d traced through a few LLCs and various other front corporations, but they’d led him nowhere and he’d gotten tired of it. Too quickly, obviously, because now he was in a hell of a lot of trouble that he could have been far more prepared for. 

People were watching the exchange, he realized, but doing it warily - no one wanted to get in the middle of this. Most of them would probably be happy to see his brains get splattered all over the  seat.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that the woman he had been watching had disappeared; that was really not relevant information right then, and he berated himself for caring.)

“Congratulations. You got me. You gonna shoot me?” 76 asked, dryly. He was already considering his options - they wouldn’t be expecting him to be as fast as he was, so that might work to his advantage, but he had no idea what other guns might be in play and who else, besides the small group of four near him, might be on their side.

“In here? No fuckin’ way, I don’t pay my girls to clean up corpses,” the smuggler laughed. “You’re gonna drop your rifle, and your sidearm, and any other weapons you got, and you’re gonna come with me out back, and we’re gonna have a chat.”

Outside - outside was good. They wouldn’t be prepared for him, because they thought he was a bitter old man, not one of the last survivors of the Soldier Enhancement Program. He could get his hands on a weapon, take them all out, and disappear into the night before any of them even realized they were dead.

“Fine,” he said, and he pulled out his pistol, dropping it on the floor under the table, where it landed next to his rifle. He was halfway through standing up, hands up to show he had nothing to hide, when a rich, low feminine voice cut in.

“I hate to interrupt, gentlemen, but the Soldier is not the only one who wishes you  _ removed, _ ” there was a flurry of motion, all around them, as all eyes in the club were once again on the gorgeous woman from before. 

Now, though, she was hefting an assault rifle - she must have slipped off to get it, and shown up just in time to save 76’s ass.

“Talon sends its regards,” She said, and suddenly he understood exactly why she looked so damn dangerous - because she  _ was,  _ in a way no one else in this room could match, not even, probably, him.

“What the fuck,” the head smuggler said, eloquently, and then he bolted, diving behind a table right as she started firing, taking out two of his associates who were a little slower on the uptake than their boss. 

Everything went a little chaotic after that, tables getting overturned to serve as makeshift cover and customers and workers alike making for the doors to avoid getting involved in the gunfight that was clearly about to begin.

76 dove under the table for his pulse rifle, knocking it over as he went. The woman he had been watching all night slid into cover beside him, a grin on her face - the deeply vicious kind of grin that really suggested he ought to be terrified, not half as turned on as he was. Up close, 76 could tell that the unusual color was absolutely not body paint; it was too smooth, too even, too perfect for even the best quality makeup. She was, in fact, actually blue; or, he thought the color was blue, it was still a bit hard to tell, even with her right next to him. 

That meant there was only one person this could be - he had heard of her, whispers of her prowess with a rifle. She had put a bullet into Tekhartha Mondatta from four buildings away, aimed  _ through  _ an Overwatch agent --  _ former _ Overwatch agent, he had to remind himself. No one was an an agent anymore, Overwatch was gone, partially at the hands of the people who had created the gorgeous assassin crouched next to him, currently the cause of perhaps the most confused boner of his life. It was stupid and foolish to continue thinking of her as attractive, even if literally everything about her was clearly made to be the perfect  _ femme fatale. _ Emphasis, of course, on  _ fatale,  _ which she could very well be for him in about a dozen different ways, more if he counted all the ways his attraction to her could get him killed through sheer stupid inattention to his surroundings.

“Soldier: 76,” Widowmaker purred, sounding amused. “The pictures Talon has do not properly convey your…” She dragged her eyes down his form, and 76 swallowed when they snagged, briefly, on the probably very obvious tent in his pants. “Physical prowess.”

“Widowmaker,” his greeting was gruff, sharp - it was meant to cover, at least for himself, the slightly frustrating fact that discovering the woman he’d been lusting after all night was one of the most dangerous killers in the world had done absolutely nothing to kill his interest, no matter what he kept telling himself. It didn’t make her any less perfect, physically, and...well. He’d always been drawn to dangerous things, even ones with blatant warning labels slapped on their aliases.

He stopped short of a return comment on her appearance, because he was sure that whatever came out would be far too flirtatious for the situation they were in. Or for  _ any _ situation that involved him and Talon’s finest killing machine, whether Talon knew who he was under the mask or not.

“It seems we find ourselves on the same side,” she said, popping out of cover to fire off a short burst of assault rifle fire. Patrons and employees were still desperately trying to get out, to escape the crossfire between a dangerous vigilante, the world’s best assassin, and a group of very pissed off and very heavily armed drug smugglers and the allies they had dragged in from the crowd - men, 76 realized, that had likely been posted to ensure he went down if he had decided to struggle. “At least for the moment.”

“Funny,” 76 said, “I got the impression Talon and Los Muertos were in business together.” Maybe he could pry a little information out of her, assuming she knew anything at all. He couldn’t be sure that Talon trusted their prized sniper with that sort of intel; she might well just be a tool.

“Only sometimes,” Widowmaker hummed, “and they have become too reliant on our support. Lessons must be taught, Soldier.” 

God, he could have listened to her talk for the rest of his life, with the way her sultry voice rolled vowels and teased around the English language, French accent rich and deeply alluring, and that was a dangerous thing to be thinking about in the middle of a gunfight. Or ever.  _ Fuck. _

She snapped her gun into its sniper rifle configuration, and 76 leaned out of cover just long enough to watch her put a bullet through one dealer’s head.

“So Talon teaches its lessons by making its prize assassin play stripper,” 76 said dryly. Widowmaker tilted her head down, and then she laughed. Her laugh was dark and sensuous, just like everything else about her, and 76 wanted to drown in it, which, goddamn, he really,  _ really  _ had to get this shit under control or he was going to get shot because he was thinking with his boner and not his brain.

“Oh,  _ mon chéri,  _ if you saw what I usually wear, this would not surprise you.” She said, and 76’s next set of shots nearly went very wide because he was  _ thoroughly  _ distracted thinking about it. What  _ did  _ one dress an assassin in, especially if one was playing up the  _ femme fatale  _ aspect as hard as Talon clearly was? Something slinky, hew was sure, maybe leather…

God  _ damn it  _ he had to get his head back in the game. He shifted a little, to relieve the uncomfortable tightness in his pants.

“Wonderful,” he growled low in his throat. She laughed again, a shorter thing this time, and fired off another burst of rounds. 

It was frustrating, trying to aim around the few civilians left who were trapped by the sheer number of people booking it for the exit, and still hit the targets, who had set up a fairly decent set of cover barricades and were, he was fairly certain, making use of the dwindling crowd very purposely to create human shields. His pulse munitions could pierce through wooden tables, but he was still aiming blind unless one of the bastards happened to poke his head up. Never mind that they were  _ moving.  _ He caught sight of some of the smugglers, his visor honing in on their figures, heading quickly for the nearest exit to get the hell out of the club, but they were just as detained as the other people trapped there. Hitting moving targets in a fight this chaotic was a pain in the ass for 76 and, he imagined, for Widowmaker, who had started out calm and collected but was slowly descending into French swearing beside him. 

“ _ Arrête!”  _ She snapped sharply, and then she shook her head. “I  _ despise  _ close-quarters fighting.”

“Give you a nice perch and a clean shot any day, huh?” 76 drawled. Widowmaker huffed.

“Naturally.” She regarded him, briefly. “Your visor. What does it do?” She asked, suddenly clipped and professional, none of the sultry flirtation she had used before. Right, this was Widowmaker the stone-cold killer, not Widowmaker the sultry walking honeypot.

“Locks onto targets to improve my aim. Makes sure I don’t miss.” Intelligence he perhaps shouldn’t be passing to Talon, but given the situation they were in, and that they were at least temporary allies, he supposed he could volunteer that much. Besides, the tactical visor wasn’t exactly unique; he’d had something similar when he was Strike-Commander of Overwatch. Much smaller and more compact, then, but the bulkier version worked just as well and helped conceal his identity, which was something he damned well needed.

Widowmaker made a thoughtful little noise, and then tapped her headpiece - up close, he could see glowing red lights between the jewels. Some sort of visor, then.

“Mine gives me infra-red vision - I believe it could be linked with your tactical visor, and you would be able to see and eliminate our enemies,” she offered, and he was reminded of an old children's story as she added, “without risking further casualties.” ‘ _ Said the spider to the fly _ ,’ he thought grimly. 

It was brilliant, it was efficient. It was exactly what they needed, if they wanted to finish this before their targets booked it for the door. It was also going to end this, which meant he would discover exactly what else Widowmaker might be here for, right after he’d given her free knowledge of one of his biggest advantages.

“Do it,” 76 snapped in concession, dumping the half-empty pulse charge in his rifle and slamming in a new one. Widowmaker reached up, and the lights on her visor glowed brighter red among the jewels of her headpiece, making them sparkle dramatically in the low light. 76 activated his visor’s Tactical mode, and instantly her display overlaid over his - red figures representing their enemies moved behind the tables, and his lock-on highlighted them in bright orange. 76 threw himself out of cover, brought the rifle up, and started firing. The combination worked perfectly - his targeted pulse rifle shots tore the remaining Los Muertos smugglers apart, exactly as he’d hoped.

His mission was complete.

76 took several long, deep breaths. No serious injuries, to himself or - he glanced over, thoughtfully - to Widowmaker. No blood anywhere near them, no civilian casualties, all targets down - a good op, in his opinion. A little more public than he might have liked, but he’d done that to himself. He glanced over, watching people continue to straggle out the doors, and wondered how many calls the cops had already gotten, or if the type of crowd that ran here wanted to avoid police involvement.

“Well!” Widowmaker stood up, brushing what might have been dirt off her outfit. The motion drew his eyes back to the sparkling, sequin-covered lingerie, and, yes - still gorgeous, even knowing that he was staring at someone who could and would kill him without hesitation, if she were ordered to. God, he shouldn't find that half as attractive as he did.

_ ‘Head in the game, Jack,’  _ he told himself, slightly bitterly.

“Thanks,” 76 said, but he didn’t relax or put down his gun. Widowmaker tilted her head, and he was certain she was regarding him even if he couldn’t see her eyes. 

“You are a good soldier, Seventy-Six,” she practically purred his alias, “and well named. It is unfortunate, then, that Talon desires your death.” She really did actually look disappointed about it, as she turned on him, though she didn’t raise her rifle

He didn’t have more than a second to react, bringing up his gun as a shield to block the fist she swung at his face. He’d misjudged, hadn’t paid enough attention, focused too much on the initial attack, because she swept his legs out from under him while he was busy blocking her fist.  _ Shit, shit, shit. _

He went down hard, rolling to get out of the way, and let his gun slip from his fingers. He’d done enough hand to hand practice to be able to recover from being dropped fairly quickly, and he rolled onto his feet, reaching to yank her gun out of her grip. Better to get into it like that - he figured he would have some advantage over her, that way, since he couldn’t imagine Talon had built her for both long-range assassinations and face-to-face bare-hand fighting.

He was wrong. She fought fluidly and easily, letting the gun go but following the momentum to swing a punch that solidly contacted his face. She was strong, too - stronger than her seemingly delicate figure and distance specialization would have suggested, but then, her rifle wasn’t light.

Still, he was a supersoldier - few people could keep up with him, physically, even in his fifties, one of the one small boons of the Soldier Enhancement Program. He was more than a bit taken aback that she was keeping pace with him, moving fierce and fast and powerful. 

The biggest danger, he knew, was that if they did break apart and start exchanging gunfire, there was no way he would be able to hide from her infra-sight. He was sure that she was thinking the same about his tactical visor - and he was now  _ really  _ regretting telling her what that did, if he were entirely honest.

It would be unfortunate to have to kill someone so beautiful -- but that was a thought he stamped out quickly, before it could go any further. When was it ever anything else but life and death for him? Survival was going to win out over sentiment, it had to. She sure as hell wouldn’t hesitate. He couldn’t afford to.

He hopped up onto the stage, and she followed, and he took the moment to move in close, ducking under another swung fist and skipping around a kick (high heels, aimed at a very soft area, that would have hurt like a bitch) to get behind her, and wrapped an arm around her throat, a solid headlock. He knew she would be able to break it, but he just needed to hold her long enough to get the damn visor off, to take away that dangerous advantage. If he could hide, he could...figure something out. Maybe escape, maybe end this. The Overwatch do-gooder in him knew that the best end to this was to kill the Talon assassin, to remove the threat of Widowmaker permanently, but his chest ached at the thought of it. This wasn't just another foe. This wasn't just another Talon agent.  _ Why _ , he didn't fucking know. Maybe because he kept remembering that she wasn’t a killer because she wanted to be, maybe because he was, once again, thinking with his dick. But logic wasn't working the way it should, and his muscles refused to follow their time-worn memory to end this.

She reached back and yanked at his visor at the same time he got his fingers under hers, and both devices were torn off in tandem. Grunting, he ripped the mask that covered the lower half of his face off, as well, and threw it aside. Useless, at that point.

He had looked away, to remove the mask, and when he turned back, for the first time, he looked Widowmaker in the eyes. Gold locked with blue, and it was as if the whole rest of the world fell away.

Jack had heard of soulmates, of course, of the incredible moment where the universe aligned and you realized you had just found the person you were meant to be with. He had even seen it happen, a time or two, running Overwatch. It was a uniquely special moment, and it usually meant not seeing the new couple for a few days. (Oh, he’d enjoy  _ that  _ part of the arrangement, if it was with the perfect woman he had against his chest.)

He was old, now, though, and jaded, and bitter, and he’d thought that was something far and away out of his grasp. It hadn’t happened yet, he’d thought, so it wouldn’t at all. Instead, here it was, fighting him tooth and nail - until that moment, when she had stopped struggling to stare - on the stage of some dingy strip club. From the way Widowmaker’s cheeks darkened and the tiny, desperate little breath she let out, it was obvious that she felt that moment of wonderful electricity too. The connection was immediate and sizzling, and sent him right back to wanting to put his hands all over her in a distinctly nonviolent way. Unless, of course, a little hair pulling and some biting was what she wanted. He could do that, probably. Hell, there were probably a lot of things he'd do if she just asked, he realized with a joined sense of growing dread and tight heat forming at the base of his spine.

Jack wondered, briefly, if this would have happened if he’d ever met Amélie before she was remade into Widowmaker. Perhaps it wasn’t the ballerina she had been, but the perfect killing machine she had become, who was made to be the other half of his soul.

Somehow, that seemed appropriate, especially now.

He was drawn back to reality by a pained noise from Widowmaker, who was struggling again.

She twisted out of his grip, eyes wide not with surprise or want, both of which he was sure were written all over his face, but with a form of animal panic, and he let her go.

“No,” she said, voice very small, “no, no, no, no,  _ non,  _ no, I cannot,” and she shook her head, as if that might undo the moment of electricity and the humming  _ need  _ in the air between them. Jack took a step towards her, and he watched as the Widowmaker mask slid back into place, whatever she was feeling buried under years of conditioning. She launched herself at him again, taking him off his feet this time, and he rolled with her, pinning her underneath him.

“Yes,” he growled, “you  _ can,” _  his tone was insistent, and she sneered, not looking at all impressed. 

“I  _ cannot,”  _ she snapped, and then she wrapped her legs around his waist and rolled them over, and once she was on top of him her expression became playful for a moment, and she rolled her hips a little, grinding down on him and sending a desperate thrill through him. Fuck, he wanted her so bad it hurt. “Besides, old man, I sincerely doubt you could  _ keep up with me.” _

“Is that what you think?” Jack growled, flipping them again, which left her chest pressed to his and his hips slotted neatly between hers, and  _ fuck  _ she felt so damn good pressed against him _. _ She laughed darkly, and he felt a shiver crawl down his spine. It was half serious fighting, half foreplay, now, and that was what he wanted - well, perhaps to push it all the way into foreplay, because  _ God  _ he wanted  _ her.  _

“It is what I  _ know,”  _ she replied. He wanted to laugh, too, a little. God, he’d waited his whole life to meet his soulmate, and here she was, fierce and deadly and perfect, chest heaving underneath him and eyes wide, pupils dilating with lust, teasing him about his ability to get it up. “Men your age...they have problems,  _ non?” _

“ _ Some  _ men,” Jack growled in her ear, his hips grinding purposefully against her thigh, and he felt her shiver delicately. Yes, she wanted this, despite whatever the parts of her brain that Talon had rewired said.

“Not you, then?” She asked, even as a well aimed knee to his gut had him rolling off her to catch his breath. She pushed herself up and danced away, light on her feet, towards the nearest stripper pole, and he took a moment to admire the view before getting up to chase her.

“Never me,” Jack growled, and he moved into her space, backing her up directly against the pole. She could have dodged around it with no trouble at all, but she didn’t, and that was all the encouragement he needed to reach up and tangle his fingers in her hair, holding her still. She didn’t fight or try to pull away, and she definitely didn’t resist when he leaned in to kiss her. 

She made a tiny, desperate little noise, and then her arms were around his shoulders, holding him in place, nails digging in like claws even through the thick leather of his jacket and the body armor beneath. She moaned needily into his mouth, and he let his free hand trail lower to trace over all the parts of her he had been so desperately admiring - cupping a breast through her corset, then moving lower to follow the curve of her side to her hip, and around to her tight, perky ass. He had never ached to put his hands on another person the way he ached to put them on her; everything about this was new and electric.

She pulled away from his lips, eyes wide, and he could feel her shaking slightly.

“I cannot,” she said again.

“But do you want to?” He kept his voice low. She shivered faintly.

“ _ Oui. _ Yes.  _ Yes,” _ she said, and then she was kissing him again, perfect body molding against his, and he groaned against her lips. He fumbled blindly for a moment to tear off his gloves, not wanting to stop kissing her even for that, and tossed them aside with little care for where they landed. Right then the only important thing in the world was getting to feel her with his bare hands instead of through thick leather. The soft, satiny material of her corset sent a shiver up his spine, but it was nothing next to the feel of her bare skin when his fingers slid down to brush over her thigh. 

She was cold, a result, he was sure, of the modifications that had turned her skin blue --and God only knew what else -- but when his hand moved between her legs, brushing against the flimsy material of her panties, he found plenty of heat. He slipped two fingers under the fabric, rubbing against her heated skin, listening to the hitch in her breath. He could feel moisture making his fingers slick, and he groaned. Slowly, his fingers slid between her wet folds, teasing at her entrance and making her let out a tiny, breathy moan. Her hips jerked forward, just a little, and he grinned, sliding them in. His thumb found her clit, and she whined slightly desperately, but her hands were steady as she undid the straps for the harness for his pulse rifle and let it drop to the ground. She unzipped his jacket next, and he had to withdraw his hand briefly to let her push it off. She made a frustrated noise at what she found underneath - tactical gear, practical in a fight but frustrating for getting on  _ or  _ off.

“You wear too much, Soldier,” she growled.

“Compared to you, maybe,” he teased. She reached down, palming his erection through his pants, and huffed, a sound that almost muffled his own shuddering breath.

“I suspect you do not want to wait to remove all this,” she pointed out.

“No,” he agreed roughly, reaching for his belt and unbuckling it. It hit the ground with a heavy  _ thump,  _ pulse ammunition cases rattling, and then her hands were on the fly and zipper of his pants, nearly tearing them in her enthusiasm to get them open. She pushed them, and his briefs, down just enough to free his cock, fully hard and aching.

“Hm, clearly I assumed too quickly,” Widowmaker said, but she sounded a little breathless, reaching up to grip the pole behind her with both hands, and then she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him against her body.

“Fuck,” he breathed, reaching between them to move her panties aside. His other hand gripped her hip, and after pausing a brief moment to brace himself and catch her affirming nod, he buried himself in her in one swift stroke. His head was a blur, a mess of heat and want and pure, desperate  _ need _ . It felt just as good as he’d imagined all night; she was hot and wet, silky and  _ tight _ ... and as soon as he was inside her she squeezed down, arching her back and moaning beautifully. “How do you want it?” He asked, and it was an effort to keep his voice something even vaguely approaching steady.

“Hard. Do not treat me delicately, Soldier,” she said, rolling her hips to encourage him. 

“I can do that,” he said, voice rough with desire, and then he began to thrust into her in earnest. He kept a hand between them to stroke her clit, and the sight of her with her head thrown back, held up by his hand on her hip and her own grip on the pole, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

She was quiet, at first, fairly restrained, so every noise he stroked out of her felt like a victory, until she was trembling underneath his hands and, with a desperate cry and a shudder through her body, he felt her squeeze tight around him as she came. 

One of the benefits of the Soldier Enhancement Program was increased stamina - in  _ all  _ areas. He wasn’t even feeling close, not yet.

He slid out of her almost reluctantly, and she made a noise of protest.

“We are not  _ done,  _ Soldier,” she said, legs locking tighter around his waist and moving to pull him back. 

“No, we aren’t,” he agreed. “Get on your hands and knees.” His voice was gruff and commanding, and he watched her eyes go wide for a moment before turning molten, and she dropped her legs, releasing her grip on the pole. She moved so she had enough space beside the pole before dropping onto all fours. Her upper body lowered further towards the ground, lights of the club glimmering through the stones embedded into her attire. He could see how her breasts pressed into the ground, forearms bracing her… and that perfect ass right on display. Legs parted and all.

“Going to finish what you started, Soldier?” She asked, wiggling that ass enticingly, and he had to push down an almost desperate groan. He went to his knees behind her, twisting one hand in her ponytail and using the other to grab her hip tight enough to bruise. He slid back in with a long, eager moan. She felt so  _ good,  _ squeezing around him and moving her hips in time with his thrusts. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, and she moaned in response, a desperate, needy sound that had him fucking her harder.

“More,” she gasped, “please,  _ plus vort, plus vite, s'il vous plaît.”  _ Her voice, already rich and husky and seductive in English, sounded even richer in French.  _ “Baise-moi!”  _

He understood enough French to know what she was asking for. Even without it, the way she ground her hips back against his, met each of his thrusts in rhythm and force for force… Didn't need words to figure out what she wanted, and he was happy to give it. He leaned in, close to her ear, and let out a low growl.

“Who’s your daddy?” He asked, voice still low and demanding, and she made a desperate noise, hip bucking hard back against him. “Fuck, you like that?”

“Yes,” she replied breathlessly, “yes, yes,  _ yes!”  _ She was so gloriously enthusiastic, it was wonderful. It felt like they were perfectly in sync, coming together like they’d done it a thousand times before instead of for the very first time. He felt like he knew every inch of her already, and like he wanted to learn it all over again.

“Do you want me to come inside you?” He asked, because he could feel tension sparking at the base of his spine, could feel his balls drawing tight - he was  _ close,  _ and every little noise that came out of her drew him closer.

“Yes,  _ s'il vous plaît,”  _ she said, and she sounded wonderfully wrecked, which spurred him on for a few more hard thrusts. He felt her clench around him again, and this time she screamed her orgasm to the whole empty club, body going rigid with tension for a moment. He fucked her through it, finally spilling into her with a loud moan of his own. He pulled out, his tight grip on her ponytail shifting to something more gentle. With lust and adrenaline burned out of him, he felt something else settling in his chest - something heavier. 

She sat back and all but collapsed against him, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, hauling her into his lap. 

“That was adventurous,” she said, tone light but voice still with an edge of exhaustion amidst her heavy breaths. “A better end to my evening than I had anticipated.” She leaned up to steal a brief kiss.

God, he never wanted to let her go. He especially didn’t want to let her go back to Talon, where they’d...he really didn’t know, honestly. Shut her up until her next mission, maybe? 

“Doesn’t just have to be the one evening,” he said. “You could come with me, working independant has its advantages.” She hummed briefly, considering.

“I will not decide now,  _ Soldat,  _ but I will consider it.” A wicked grin spread its way across her face. “While I am deciding...” Her voice trailed off as her hand dipped between his legs, wrapping around his cock. “Perhaps another round? Maybe we will even manage to get our clothes off this time.”

**Author's Note:**

> translation notes:
> 
> Arrête!: Stop!  
> Oui: Yes  
> plus vort: harder  
> plus vite: faster  
> s'il vous plaît: please  
> Baise-moi!: Fuck me!  
> Soldat: Soldier


End file.
